


On the Side of the Angels

by jujubiest



Series: Angels [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Infidelity, M/M, Superwho, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1892319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If anyone ever needed a Doctor, it's Jimmy Novak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Side of the Angels

The bus was twenty minutes late.

That’s what Jimmy blamed all this on, later. Never mind that his life was already nine kinds of strange before the stupid bus ran late. It made it just a little easier to have a moment to point to and say, “there, right there. That’s when my life officially went to shit.”

Jimmy didn’t normally swear, but there really wasn’t a better way to put it, and not much about Jimmy or his life was normal anymore.

In the last year, he had been concussed by his television, nearly committed by his wife, possessed by an angel, and held prisoner by two crazy men who called themselves hunters and owned more guns and knives than they did pairs of socks or underwear.

Not his best memories.

But it was almost over. He’d somehow regained control of his body and managed to run away from the Winchesters. He was one bus ride away from finally, _finally_ seeing his family again. Amelia and Claire—God, how he missed them. It seemed strange to him that he could ever have thought _anything_ was worth being away from them both for so long.

Jimmy shivered. It was too cold for the thin material of his trench coat, and he thought longingly of the black pea coat he wore in winter. Too bad angels didn’t have a need—or the basic courtesy—to change their vessels’ clothes once in a while. Or charge their phones. He could have called a cab, but the cell in his coat pocket hadn’t been charged since the last time Jimmy was in Illinois, over a year ago.

So there he was, stuck at a bus stop in Nowhere, Illinois, waiting for a bus that was never going to come. And that’s when he heard it, if that was the right word. It wasn’t exactly a sound so much as a pulsing displacement of air and—Jimmy had no idea how he knew this—space. And along with it came the sight of a blue box fading into existence across the street.

Jimmy took that in without much upset; he’d been an angel’s vessel for a year. During that time, he’d been a passenger in his own body while its incomprehensible driver fought demons, travelled in time, and moved between planes of existence. Blue boxes that came out of nowhere seemed tame by comparison.

It was almost eye-watering against the pristine snow, growing more so as it solidified before him. Jimmy read the words “Police Public Call Box” with mild curiosity. _I could use some emergency assistance right about now,_ he thought. He wondered if he might at least be able to call a cab from the old-fashioned phone on the side.

He had just stood up and taken one step into the street when the door on the blue box opened, and out stepped a tall, strange-looking man in a long, embroidered waistcoat of all things. He had a crop of curling dark hair and a face that seemed ancient, wise and dangerous, friendly and perpetually young.

“Hello,” he said, in a surprisingly gentle, pleasant voice. He spoke with a British accent.

“Hi,” Jimmy returned lamely, waving a hand. The man stepped out and looked around, scrutinizing the quiet, empty street.

“Where’ve I come out? Is this Earth?” His manner was all brisk politeness, no doubt charming under different circumstances.

“Last time I checked,” Jimmy answered, filing away his anxiety at how easily he answered such a bizarre question for the massive panic attack he was sure to have eventually.

“That’s good, yes!” The man enthused. “And…what year is it?”

“Oh-eight…wait, no. Oh-nine. Sorry. I forgot.”

This caused the man to squint at him, not suspicious but clearly intrigued.

“You forgot what year it is?”

Jimmy shrugged.

“It was oh-eight before…well, it’s a long story.”

“I enjoy long stories,” the man said, crossing the narrow street and taking a seat on the bench. He motioned to the empty space beside him. “Go on.”

Jimmy stared.

“I don’t even know you,” he protested.

“I’m the Doctor,” the man said, as if that explained everything.

“What kind of Doctor? Doctor Who?”

“Ah, that _is_ the question,” the man said jovially. “But no, just the Doctor. So…” he motioned to the seat beside him again, looking up at Jimmy expectantly.

“So? So what?”

“Your story,” the Doctor prompted gently. “Go on! You can tell me while you wait for your bus.”

Jimmy hesitated for a moment. He was bewildered by this exuberant stranger and his unaccountable interest. He needed help, yes, but sue him if he was a little wary of getting it from corners that fell—or _faded_ —out of the sky. He had every reason to be gun shy when it came to otherworldly beings, and this man had “more than he seems” written all over him. Still, he didn’t seem like any of the angels Jimmy had seen, and all he asked was to hear Jimmy’s story. He’d given more to equally—and infinitely more—strange people, after all. Jimmy sighed and sat down.

“About a year ago, an angel came to me and asked me to be his vessel. He made it sound important, like a calling from God. I agreed.”

“I spent months locked away inside my own head, watching this angel—Castiel—hunt demons and fight a war. It was lonely, cold…I was terrified. He tried to shield me from the worst of it, I think. But still. Being an angel’s vessel…it’s like strapping yourself to a comet. Then yesterday, I woke up and I was _me_ again. It felt like a gift, until the two guys Castiel travels with told me I couldn’t leave. They tried to be nice about it, but I was basically their prisoner and I knew it. So I snuck away.”

He fell silent for a moment, looking down at his hands clenched tightly in his lap. It was the way he used to hold them when he prayed…but now he wondered if he’d ever feel right about praying again.

“All I want,” he said in a small voice, “is to get home to my wife and daughter.”

He took a deep, shaky breath. It was like hunger pains, missing Amelia and Claire. It was a constant gnawing that intensified over time until his head throbbed and he felt nauseous with longing, just to see them and know they were okay.

“It sounds,” came the man’s voice, breaking through his reverie, “as though you need a Doctor.”


End file.
